All of my responsibilities in this world, and their corresponding anxieties, are very carefully held together by one mighty tool: Trello. Most of them are on a board that I’ve used for years at this point, tracking everything from long-term goals to daily tasks.
Whenever I feel it’s time for a reset (roughly 3 times a year), I choose a new background image for the board and give it a new title. A few weeks ago, as I was doing this process, I could not settle on a title. Nothing was coming to me, no way to describe this period that didn’t echo the grief, loss, and pain I was trying to feel less of. So I settled on “The Sploosh”.
It seemed funny at the time, so I stuck with it. The more I think about it, though, the more I love it. If Episode 0 was the leap, then by all means, this episode is the sploosh. This is hitting the water bottom-first, sending splashes in every direction possible. It is a loud and unapologetic announcement of presence, an undeniable assertion that I, too, belong in this space.
I have made changes to the people in my life and the things I devote my energy to. I have made goals for which parts of my life I want to grow, and which I want to leave behind. All of that was done in the preparation for the leap. Then I leapt, and cold water rushed in to fill the space around me.
It’s what comes after the sploosh that’s scary. Now that the waters have begun to settle, I question myself. Have I really changed all that much? Is anything really different than it was three months ago?
I can’t, with 100% certainty, answer those questions. But in the moments when I feel happier, when I get to make art, share art, share myself with others— in those moments, I feel different.
Healing is hard work. It’s messy, and sticky, and sometimes you go backwards. Healing from a person you consider family is even messier. I thought I needed space to heal the wounds she had given me. And yes, I did, and still do. But I also needed space to be able to see myself. Now, I see old wounds that had been opened without my knowledge, bleeding seamlessly into the creases of my thoughts. I see thought patterns and behaviors that I want to change, because I don’t want those to be a part of who I am. I do, still, see the fresher wounds from her, their scar tissue only now beginning to form.
There will not be a day where I can sit back, wine glass in hand, and say “I’m done healing.” Healing is an ongoing process, one that I will spend the rest of my life either leaning into or running away from. I’ll use the latter when I need to, but I’ve done enough of that. I’m going to lean into it, especially when it’s hard. Even if some days I do it kicking my feet and screaming inside.
After the sploosh, the water starts to calm again. I sit on the bottom of this metaphorical pond, looking up at the fading ripples. I know I have to resurface. I know that, even if only inch by inch, my self will demand to be seen.
For now, though, I’m content to watch. Dragonflies flick past overhead. I think I can see a hawk circling far above. Down here, I can breathe. I can feel my body, and if I can trust in that, then it will tell me what I need.
Ashton Rose 
So great to hear from you! I think of you often and hope you are okay.
LikeLike
That’s so sweet!! I hope you are doing well too.
LikeLike